


Completion & Desire

by Lyssandra_Med



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Hermione Granger, F/F, Female Harry Potter, Female Voldemort (Harry Potter), Horcruxes, Resurrection, Ritual Magic, Soul Magic, runic magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26735050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Harri has never felt whole, has never been complete.With Bellatrix at her side, Hermione buoying her spirits, perhaps now she can.So long as she can bringHimback.
Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 50





	Completion & Desire

**Author's Note:**

> A little bit different from my usual fare, but not so much so.  
> Unedited.

Ribbons and thread, arcs of light that fluttered through the air. The magic was borne on impulse and desire, curling around her skin as she moved. Self-made, self-described, embedded and blooming underneath her watchful gaze.

No one else could see this magic. No one else could describe the web she’d woven into her body, or the trails she made as she walked and ran. The stone that she had held once before, the stone she’d palmed once her mirage with Death had faded, the stone that she had _claimed_ as her own, enchanted and then stuffed with magic.

That stone could do many things, and it was this aspect she had chosen for it.

Being marred and slashed across the face with an ugly scar that would never properly heal was enough of a reason to use the stone. If not that reason she could say another; having depth perception was nice, and being scarred was an acceptable tradeoff for that. Being _pretty_ wasn’t something she cared much about. She had never had the time for expressive words or beautiful looks when she’d been younger; a girl too thin from malnutrition, a body that had grown used to wolfing down meals during school months and then subsisting on the gained fat while she was home. She had been brought up to fit a particular mood, a prophecy, raised to die gallantly for a cause she’d only half understood.

Looks hadn’t mattered then and they didn’t matter much now. Why would they? She was their Saviour and they would prostrate themselves at her feet no matter what, quake with fear and tremble as she walked by. No matter if she were man or woman, neither or both, they worshipped and feared her as a _symbol_ and not a human being.

 _Most_ of them would do that.

Not all of them.

Not Hermione, and Harri treasured her for that. Bellatrix wouldn’t do it either, but she had never really respected or feared _people._ She’d followed power, and the lust for it. She had no true desire except to exist in this world and serve a stronger Mistress.

Harri had been stronger than Voldemort, and that had settled the matter in Bellatrix’s opinion.

Harri was simply pleased to have people at her side no matter what. Hermione might have been a demanding new Lord, always wanting to change the world and fill Harri’s head with new thoughts, new ideas, but it was worth it. Bellatrix might have been mad - _or something close like it, though Harri didn’t think she could properly label the witch as mad so much as_ ** _different_** \- but she was full of silver and green, darkness and a blindingly fervent light.

Harri was also pleased to have a companion who would listen to her whine when tomes made no sense or runes looked backwards, pleased and thankful for the silence and the patience. Harri was also happy to finally have someone around who’d known Sirius as he was - _and not as he’d become after that horrid stint in Azkaban_ \- and would _tell_ her about him.

Sirius _had_ blood adopted her after all, and those particular rituals needed two souls to start. That didn’t make Bellatrix her godmother, or her aunt, or even a third cousin twice removed. But it made her the closest thing in the world to family that Harri still had - _excepting Narcissa or Andromeda, who had both reconciled and moved far, far to the west_ \- and she intended to keep her for as long as she could. 

Even if the witch would cackle deep into the night, rant and rave and remember - _through broken lenses that Harri_ ** _tried_ **_to restore, finding out in her own way that the witch had never wanted to harm Sirius, had harboured a sweet affection for dear Alice_ \- things that had hurt her. Things that had nearly killed her. Regret revealed, complicity and abandonment struck through, a woman with dark curls and a wonderful smile.

Wonderful _after_ Hermione had held her down onto a runic table to have her teeth healed up, screaming obscenities all the way and groping Hermione through her robes.

It was a twisting and odd little world that they lived in, but Harri wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living with the stone embedded in her eye socket would have been anathema even a decade ago, but now it was simply _normal._ Surviving with Hermione by her side would have been a fever-dream, but now it was simply the way the world worked. Cohabitating with the woman who had - _accidentally, and Hermione reminded Her of that fact whenever the memories became too much_ \- killed her Godfather would have been _hell_ even before the last battle, now it was a cherished home.

Life turned, Harri simply turned with it.

It had turned again, and now she stood deep in darkness, following a trail of magic that revealed Hermione’s twisting course. The blue was shed from a wand so crooked that it might have been broken if not for the magic that kept it stable. Hermione had claimed it, and in return they’d both designed a new wand for their dear Bellatrix, something that was far more suited to her new personality now that the original - _that little girl of eleven years old, that little girl who’d had stars in her eyes and fire in her heart_ \- was lost to her. 

Fickle things, wands. Fickle and willing to change sides when won on might alone, and Bellatrix had accepted that truth when given the chance to understand.

Fickle things that Harri gripped tighter, a flash of her own wand’s tale beating at the back of her skull.

Harri brushed aside the worry and came back to herself, standing and wandering and looping through a graveyard as the last true bit of light faded into the background of the horizon. Now there was only a cold chill to accompany them and the faint glow from the tip of their wands, paths illuminated in silver light that wavered with every heartbeat. They were here for a reason, here to search, here looking for something that she wanted more than _anything_ in the world. Something she wanted much more than Hermione at her side, more than Hermione in her bed - _whenever she managed to pull her from Bellatrix’s clutches, that was. Offers to join the two of them had been politely declined (with wavering resolve); Bellatrix was more an Aunt than anything else, and while there was a spark in the centre of her slit whenever she thought of the woman that way, she wasn’t yet too enamoured as to break that self-imposed taboo_ \- and more than Hermione as a supportive friend.

They were here amidst the dead, poking through bones and dust for hope they weren’t sure existed. The grave they wanted was unmarked, a thoroughly appalling idea in Harri’s opinion but then again she’d always gone against the grain of accepted society. Hermione had spent two feverish days devising a way to find what they wanted, Bellatrix kneeling at her side and the both of them pushing Harri away whenever she managed to disturb their process. Now all that hard work was paying off, the thread Hermione followed growing stronger as they made their way to the backside of the lot.

When they finally stood in the furthest corner they stopped, nothing around them except inscrutable headstones and yellowing grass. The moonlight was powerful now and shown down to illuminate what little there was, so little that at first Harri wasn’t certain if it was what she wanted.

A second passed and then she felt that phantom limb stretch taut, her stone eye gleaming and burning in her skull.

Harri _knew_ that this was it.

This was _His_ grave, and while she could not afford Him the reverence He so deserved, she would make an attempt at it.

Kneeling down into the damp grass, her hands splayed out beside herself as Bellatrix took vigil to the right and Hermione to the left. They were all solemn and silent for a time; Harri mourning the broken half of her soul, the half that had _been_ Harri, back when she was still a baby. That half had died in green lightning, Lily’s spell retaining _form_ and not _function._ The corpse had continued to breathe and when His wounded soul had reached out for something to save it, _she_ had been there. The other half disappeared for a time but the one embracing dear Harri’s little corpse had flourished.

Harri mourned the half of herself that she had never truly met, mourned what He had become, frustration boiling at the fact that He had become so consumed in madness and pointless revenge. She mourned the fact that He had never truly understood in life what she’d become in death.

She hated that it had taken so very long for Hermione to figure it out, but at the same moment she loved the woman at her side all the more because she _had_ figured it out. No one else had been able to understand or explain, not even Dumbledore had been insightful enough to _know_ what Harri truly was.

Bellatrix giggled when she sat beside Harri, her mad cackle never breaking through. Instead, her laughter turned to sobs, a wretched keening for a love long gone. Harri knew that Bellatrix mourned not for this incarnation but the last, the one who had lifted her from a life of torment and preconceived roles. She mourned the man who had been willing to become a God, a man who had been willing to burn the rot of the old world away in preparation for something new.

The only one not in mourning was Hermione, though it could not be said that she was happy. She held tears in her eyes for the both of them, her heart so great that she could love them and feel their pain as if it were her own. She was empathetic to a fault and willing to die for either one of them, Hermione being at once their best - _and worst_ \- impulses all merged into one. That she had been willing to sit still while they stuffed her with their souls - _and then received new shards in return, new splinters that were cherished as if they were their own_ \- was one thing, but that she had given them the idea was another. All the credit for this twisted reunion lay on her back and her back alone, an act that Harri would never forget, an act she knew she would repay for as long as she lived.

Harri wiped away her tears with a sigh, drew forth her wand - **_His_ **_wand, her wand, the one she’d claimed to snap just so that no one else would blame her, no one would come after her_ \- and watched the tip as it shivered in the air. She hoped no one was onto them yet. She hoped no one knew the dark force of her fears and desires. They certainly called her Dark, though for reasons beyond what she could actually be accused of.

The thread she unleashed wound its way down deep into the earth, wrapped itself around the casket and mouldy, half-eaten bones. She wrenched them apart and tore them asunder into a finer powder than any apothecary could grind up. She pulled Him up from that intrusion, bottled what was left of Him into a summoned phial.

There was so _little_ left. Still, it was more than what they needed.

Harri was thankful for that.

\---

When they finally returned to Hermione’s home - _so quaint, so quiet, so very, very lonely now that her family were gone, left to wander about other continents in search of a daughter they’d never know_ \- it was only for a moment. A pitstop just long enough to give the reporters and Ministry officials parked outside reason to believe that they were throwing a party, being humble and human. With charms set and enchantments working, they left through the one-way Floo to Grimmauld place. It was a connection that they had created in secret and darkest night, a connection forbidden by the Ministry but necessary to their purposes.

They could call her a Dark Witch all they wanted but Harri would never give them a reason to turn that belief into action. Secrecy was natural, was normal, as was hiding from people who wanted autographs and pictures, soundbites and humble grovelling.

The space before them was lit with candles and in the corner Kreacher sulked, hands atop his head and wide eyes wet with malevolence and tears. His commentary only lacked the usual vitriolic bite due to Bellatrix’s whip, the scars across his back a testament to her temper.

None would insult her lover - _and potential lover, a fact that Harri acknowledged as she let her eyes roam across the soft yet chiselled features of Bellatrix’s face_ \- and those that did would pay the price. Harri couldn’t find it within herself to care and Hermione enjoyed being doted on, protected and uplifted. Bellatrix was a cruel Mistress for the beast; the elf hated them all and cried for its dead and gone, wailed for lost Walburga, took up time and was abominably late. Harri paid him no mind, Bellatrix punished him, and Hermione giggled in the corner when she thought that no one was watching.

Bellatrix’s soul-shard was a little more than a dark influence, a fact Harri could acknowledge even as the twin within her soul revelled in that fact.

Harri passed the elf by with only a derisive look as commentary on its chosen location, stopped before the ground and upended bone dust into its rightful place.

As the others joined her in stripping themselves of vestments and adornments, Harri could not help herself from looking across their flexing bodies. She fought back against the interest - _they had a job to do and only so long to do it_ \- but it was inevitable that she would fail. Hermione was strong and lithe; her back and front were adorned in scars that bit painfully deep, a beautiful canvas made all the more so by the inclusion of their disparate claims. Bellatrix was adorned much the same, her body turned hard and strong, feline in its capacity for movement, thin in some places and thick in others.

Harri was herself not empty of scarring; beatings and trials in times long past were still evident across her skin, permanent marks of memories she could only half remember.

A better inspection of their bodies could be made later that morning; sunlight wouldn’t wait on them and they needed this completed before it came. Harri turned towards their task and entered a painted circle, waited patiently for her companions to join her. Hermione walked until she was on Harri’s left, Bellatrix to her right, the pile of bone dust between them all and a phial filled with red liquid held tightly in Bellatrix’s hand.

The ritual itself was rather simple, really. They wanted someone with might and power, someone they could use to instil fear and madness, paranoia and terror, _horror_ passed out to all the masses. They wanted to tear apart this broken Ministry and rebuild it as something better, they wanted to bring low all those who had escaped justice - _Light_ ** _or_ ** _Dark_ \- in the last two wars and saw themselves fit to rule this world. They wanted _many_ things, but Harri wanted more.

Harri wanted herself. She wanted to understand the memories she’d been unlocking ever since His death, she wanted a family that was all her own in soul if not in blood, she wanted _Him._ She wanted the closest thing she had to a father, the closest thing she had to a mother. His death and Lily’s sacrifice had created her. Lily’s end has paved the way for her and His madness had consummated Harri’s creation, her _birth._

Soft words were uttered from three voices, hushed tones filled with reverence and pleading might. Worried looks, apprehension in the lines that cornered their eyes, lips twitching, tongues draped out to taste the air.

Magic born between them all and Harri could _see_ as it occurred. One thread reached out to connect the dust, one thread pulled back to pulse and waver in the air as it searched them out. It followed their voices while more threads were raised, thick and drooping. It held Harri to Hermione, Bellatrix to Harri, Hermione to the both of them. An intersecting triangle, a splash of colour in an otherwise dull room, _heat_ pouring against their bodies and sweat leaking, breath _panting_ as the **_thing_** here with them swelled.

It wasn’t what Harri had been expecting, but if she were honest with herself then she would admit she’d expected nothing. Harri had read it all through again and again, listened for hours as Hermione - _and then Bellatrix, who, exasperatedly, had sat down atop her lap and ran her fingers down Harri’s neck as she took over for a pleased looking Hermione_ \- explained what was going to happen. All they needed was gathered here; Hermione filling her life with joy, Bellatrix giving meaning and purpose to maddened desire, and even _He_ was here, in spirit if not yet in form.

Deep within Harri burned some lingering portion still Him, more than her. The vaguest sense of being incomplete was filling, closing shut and fading into nothing. That empty and hollow pit was closing, completion taking over.

It was with all that want, all that desire, that they brought Him into the world.

Or _Her,_ more specifically. _They_ if it was desired. Whatever it was that lay before them wasn’t what _He_ had been, that much was certain. This thing was some mixture of them all; an oddly touched creation with Hermione’s sun-kissed skin, Bellatrix’s unkempt mane of dark hair, and Harri’s shorter stature. Their green eyes were open and wide, glinting in the darkness of the room as they looked around in fear.

This was something new, and as Harri reached forth to draw the shivering being closer to her naked body, Bellatrix came forth. Hermione followed suit soon enough, pressing tightly against their sides as they each beheld the miracle they had created.

Harri smiled, complete and whole.


End file.
